


T Minus

by PepperF



Category: MacGyver (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Stargate: Continuum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been like this from the moment their eyes met across a crowded launch pad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	T Minus

**Author's Note:**

> *crosses off another AU Sam/Mac match-up*

It had been like this from the moment their eyes met across a crowded launch pad. He'd paused, staring at her with that slightly arrested look she'd since come to know well, and then given her a tiny half-smile. She'd smiled back – out of politeness more than anything, but somehow that intent look had stayed in her mind, and she'd paid particular attention when they were formally introduced.

"Commander Carter, this is Mr. MacGyver. He'll be working with you on setting up some of the experiments."

"It's just MacGyver. Or Mac."

"Sam."

And then he'd embarked on an unhurried, deliberate, and unabashedly old-fashioned campaign to woo her, flagging his intentions every step of the way. At first she'd been surprised, and then intrigued, and eventually it dawned on her that she was becoming dangerously attracted to him. His hands made her want to be touched; his smile made her want to protect his unguarded heart. Never had she met someone so incurably inclined to give himself away. But his eyes... oh. Every time she looked into his eyes, she willingly gave herself away. Any desire or ability to hold herself back just seemed to disappear.

She'd enjoyed the sensation of slow dancing with him towards an increasingly inevitable conclusion. In the fast-moving, unpredictable whirl that was her life, it felt good to dwell on every step of the romance – dwelling until the mere idea of the moment when their lips would finally meet left her temporarily blind and deaf to the world around her, dizzy with anticipation. It had been like a slow increase of static charge, building up and up... until six months ago, when they'd finally earthed against one another, to their complete and mutual satisfaction.

Since then, well, they'd not been inseparable. Even were she inclined to be clingy, the requirements placed on her around her forthcoming mission, not to mention his own busy schedule, would have made that impossible. Working with him had gained an extra degree of interesting tension, however – and taking time off had suddenly seemed a lot more appealing – partly because he was just as much a workaholic as she, and would happily spend a morning in bed talking about zero-g combustion theory. Plus, the man was a genius at multi-tasking. Right now, for instance, he was keeping up a (slightly breathless, but still accurate) monologue on exothermic reactions in a microgravity environment. Sadly, she was finding herself strangely unable to concentrate: it was difficult to think scientifically when sprawled naked on his bed, at noon, in the comfortable warmth of Florida's idea of winter, with every point of his considerable IQ focused on frying her synapses with pleasure.

Sam's fingers tangled in the wide, soft loops of his multicolored woolen coverlet as he kissed her neck, and she closed her eyes, her skin tingling. She should've guessed where this was heading. Had she really been worried that he'd been told to break the news about some disastrous data that meant the launch was scrubbed? It just went to show how focused she was on the mission. Not that that was a bad thing, but it... it... iiiiiiit...

No, it was no good. He was moving down her body, his fingers and lips caressing her skin. Thinking about anything beyond that was impossible.

He knelt on the floor and picked up her left foot, holding it tenderly, and placed a warm, deliberate kiss on her instep, staring up at her along the length of her body. Sam chuckled and wriggled, trying to move her foot out of his grasp – but he refused to let go, and began to slowly kiss his way up the inside of her leg – her ankle, her calf... By the time he reached the inside of her knee, she could feel her skin heating in waves radiating out from where he was touching her. Just above her knee, her thigh, lower, middle, upper... And all the while, he was still talking science.

She had a sudden vision of him as the Mr. June pinup for a Cole-Palmer calendar, and pressed her hand to her mouth to smother a laugh. Then he bit her inner thigh gently, and kissed it better, and she smothered a moan instead, wriggling in a way that had nothing to do with being ticklish.

"Maaaaac..." His kisses were trailing teasingly up towards her hipbone, and away from where she wanted him. She wasn't going to beg, she wasn't going to beg— "Please..." Damn. She could feel his grin against her skin, but he trailed obediently back downwards, and... "Ohhhhhh," ...it was totally worth begging. She clutched handfuls of soft wool above her head, and then slowly let go, her fingertips sparking along the dry brush of the fabric, and then across her shoulders, and down to her breasts in sybaritic delight.

Mac expounded a muffled theory, and Sam whimpered, shaking uncontrollably as pleasure crackled through her body with all the speed and ferocity of an electrical fire.

Pressing a kiss to her still-quivering skin, he moved back up her body to lie by her side, propping his head up on one arm. When she reopened her eyes, he was smiling lazily at her.

"I wasn't sure you'd ever relax."

Suffering temporary brain malfunction, Sam settled for waving one hand. "Uff." She felt like a heap of melted components. "I'll be relaxing in OCB all next week," she mumbled. And she really should've seen this coming when he'd asked if she'd like to come to his place for lunch: this was the last chance they'd have to spend truly private time together until she got back.

"Sure you will," said Mac, agreeably cynical. "You'll just hang out and watch Apollo 13 with the guys, play some Monopoly, spend a little time in the gym... You wouldn't spend your supposedly-relaxing quarantine week actually, you know, working your ass off, preparing for the mission, or anything like that."

"Oh, like you're any better," she retorted, and smacked his chest lazily with the back of her hand. He caught it, and held it prisoner while he pressed her to the bed with a long, passionate kiss, tinged with the vague taste of ozone.

"I have a confession," he said, when they finally stopped for air. Had she not been so very relaxed, her heart would have fluttered nervously. As it was, she settled for widening her eyes enquiringly. She could feel the rapid thud of his heart against her breastbone, and a pressure lower, hard but not urgent against her thigh. "Leland told me to do this."

"He WHAT?"

"Well, he told me to take you home and make you relax," clarified Mac, quickly. "He wasn't specific about the method." He settled back beside her, and stroked her hair until she relaxed back into the bed. "The whole crew has been given the time off until tomorrow. Chance to, you know, say..." He didn't say. "To spend some time with people."

"Oh." Well, okay, she'd been planning to get Leland to send her crew home until tomorrow: although the launch wasn't for a week, once they were in pre-launch quarantine they'd only be able to see family and friends who'd been vetted as thoroughly germ-free, and then only for a couple of hours at a time. This afternoon and evening would be their last chance to spend proper time together. Until they got back, of course. And when they did, she was going to stuff herself silly with all the most unsuitable food, ride her motorbike at highly dangerous speeds, and go on a looooooooong vacation with Mac, somewhere with excellent reef diving.

His hand stroked along her flank. "Sorry. I wasn't sure if hijacking you was a good idea—"

"Nonono, it probably was," she reassured him. "I would have said, 'Yes, in a minute,' if you'd tried to get me to leave voluntarily." They both knew what 'in a minute' meant in scientist-deeply-engrossed-in-an-experiment terminology. His hand strayed higher, playing lazily with her breast, and she sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. She was still sensitive.

"Sorry." He stopped, which was enough impetus for her to open eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed, and grab his shoulder.

"No, it's good. It's goo-ooh..."

His smile turned from tender to wicked. "Ah." His strokes became more purposeful.

"Okay," she croaked, and cleared her throat. Moving quickly, she pushed him over onto his back, and pinned his deliciously naked and tanned body. Her sleepy relaxation had all dissipated. "What was all that talking about, anyhow?"

Mac looked innocent. "Didn't you like it? I could've sworn—" Sam pressed down and derailed his train of thought.

"It wasn't just to ensure that our experiments get me all... hot and bothered while I'm up there, unable to do anything about it – was it?" she asked, nodding her head up at the ceiling, and beyond that – space.

He schooled his expression into a poker-face. "Maybe."

She quirked her eyebrow at him. "Well, that's an interesting idea for an experiment." She looked speculatively down at him, and pursed her lips. "I'll just have to ensure that you've got an equally distracting... trigger."

"For control purposes, of course," he said, distractedly. She was moving softly but insistently against him.

"Oh, of course. I always take the proper, thorough, scientific approach." She leaned closer. "The SRBs each have twelve point five meganewtons of thrust at liftoff," she whispered, close to his ear. She ran her hands down his torso, shoving his arms out of the way. He laid them straight out to either side in unconditional surrender. "At sea level liftoff, the external tank has five point two-five meganewtons—" She reached back and positioned him, and then herself, "of thrust." Slooooowly, she sank down, and looked up to meet his intense gaze. "The orbiter itself," she informed him, "has two engines, with a combined vacuum thrust of fifty-three point four kilonewtons." She clenched her internal muscles, and he dropped a hand over his face, giving a laugh that ended on a groan. "In total, the stack has a liftoff thrust of thirty... point one-six... _meganewtons_..."

\---

"T minus ten minutes, Intrepid, weather is green, and you have a go. Come home safe."

\---

END.


End file.
